


with your peculiar mouth, my heart made wise

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fellatio, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in Makoto's mouth is not the same as swimming but it's the next best thing: wet and warm, powerful and yielding at the same time, a pull that carries Haru along and encourages him to push into that pull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with your peculiar mouth, my heart made wise

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from e.e. cummings' "it is at moments after i have dreamed."

The swim meet today was in Yamaguchi so they're using club funds to stay overnight. They've been back to the hotel and out to dinner and even now, returning once more to the hotel for the night, Haru can feel how the adrenaline is flowing through everyone, as if the rush of the water is still in their veins. He can feel it in Makoto, anyhow, who has been by his side all evening and stays there as the elevator arrives and they all get on. 

The elevator stops on the 9th floor, which is where Nagisa and the others are staying; the room Haru and Makoto are sharing is three floors higher, so they say goodnight as everyone gets off, leaving just the two of them. As soon as the doors close again and they start upwards with a soft _whirrr_ , Makoto moves closer to him and there is no mistaking what he means to do.

"No." Haru pushes him back with a word and a look more surely than if he'd raised his hand to Makoto. Makoto backs off at once, leans on the opposite wall, hands behind him on the rail, and flashes Haru a grin, but Haru sees the way it flickers at the corners. Haru doesn't like that flicker. He thinks he's the one who should be ashamed just now, not Makoto.

The elevator lets them out on their floor and they walk next to each other, not touching, down the hallway. Haru stops at their room, watches Makoto swipe the keycard. "It was only because of the security cameras—"

"I know," Makoto says quickly, looking back over his shoulder, giving Haru another smile. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking." He holds the door open and Haru goes in. 

He turns when no footsteps follow. Makoto is still standing in the hallway. "I'm not really tired yet," he says. "I was thinking I might go down and check out the sauna. I'll see you later, all right?"

"I thought you were sorry," Haru says. 

Makoto's brow knits. "I am." Uncertainty colors his smile. 

"Then don't you think you should get in here and apologize on your knees?" Haru says, the faintest quirk to his brow.

Gratitude washes out the uncertainty in Makoto's smile as he comes in, stepping past Haru, dropping to his knees and reaching for Haru before Haru can secure the lock. Hands already on Haru's belt buckle as Haru turns around, Makoto draws down his trousers, goes slow and steady as he peels down the jammer he finds underneath, too intent on what he's doing to comment or joke. A soft sound of frustration escapes him at the impediment of Haru's shoes. He unlaces them, lifting Haru's feet one at a time, just enough to slip them off, and offers his shoulders for support as Haru steps out of his puddled clothing. 

Naked from the waist down now, Haru feels oddly exposed by having his shirt and jacket on, more than if he were completely naked. But Makoto doesn't move to undress him further: he wraps his hand around the base of Haru's cock, his other hand on Haru's hip, kneeling up as he licks to moisten the shaft, kisses the head, takes Haru's cock into his mouth at last, sucking slow and gentle. 

Haru strokes Makoto's hair and Makoto glances up, his mouth so soft on Haru. "You don't seem very sorry." Haru winds a lock of Makoto's hair around his fingers. Sucking slow and steady, Makoto smiles around Haru's cock. Haru's knees buckle at the sight of Makoto's smiling mouth on his cock, moving in lazy, teasing strokes; he leans back on the door for support, still looking at Makoto, who is looking at him, just holding Haru in his mouth now and licking the underside. Haru runs his fingers through Makoto's hair to the back of his head. "A little more apologetic, please, Makoto," Haru says, cradling Makoto's head with both hands, urging and persuading, and Makoto smiles wider before he starts sucking again, in earnest now. 

Being in Makoto's mouth is not the same as swimming but it's the next best thing: wet and warm, powerful and yielding at the same time, a pull that carries Haru along, floats him as it sucks him down, encourages him to find himself in that pull and to push into it.

Makoto is sucking as if he's starved for oxygen and Haru's cock is the only thing that can help him breathe. His cheeks hollow as needful, desperate sounds come from deep in his throat, from deeper in his throat than he's taken Haru. Haru watches Makoto's mouth on his cock, Makoto's lips soft and tight around it, Makoto's mouth so wet. His face is tipped up but he's not watching back now, he's just letting Haru look at him. Haru watches Makoto's mouth on his cock, and the need on Makoto's face does as much for him as the physical sensation of that gorgeously wet mouth. 

He can't stand it, the sight, the sensation; no, he can't stand, but it's all right because he knows that if he falls, Makoto will catch him as surely as every body of water ever has. 

Haru doesn't fall into Makoto yet, though. He lets the door catch him instead, giving it all his weight, one hand splayed flat against it, the other still on Makoto's head, riding the rhythm as Makoto's mouth fucks him, as he fucks Makoto's mouth. Haru's hips rise off the door as he plunges into the deep and Makoto meets him, pulling and yielding and swirling 'round him, wet rhythmic lapping, stroking slick and hot, _more and always and please and yes~_

His full weight supported by the door like this, Haru isn't standing, not really; he can raise his foot and not fall. He moves it to Makoto's lap, toes Makoto's erection and Makoto shudders; his shudder vibrates through his body everywhere, in his mouth, onto and along Haru's cock; Makoto's shudder ripples through Haru's body. Groan muffled by Haru's cock lodged in his throat, Makoto shudders again but doesn't come, nearly loses the rhythm but recovers. He takes his hand from Haru's hip only to ease Haru's foot to the floor. 

Haru's breath is too thick in his mouth for words, so he's silent as he puts his foot in Makoto's lap once more. Makoto moves his hand to his lap again but only to undo his fly this time. He kneels up, careful as he adjusts his angle to keep Haru's cock inside him. Hand cupped under Haru's foot, he wriggles out of his jeans as far as he can, frustration strangling low in his throat before he reaches for Haru's other hand and places it at the back of his head, wordlessly urging Haru to hold his head so Haru can keep fucking his mouth while Makoto uses his own hand now to tug his jeans down past his knees. He settles back, hands resting on Haru's thrusting hips as he spreads his legs for Haru's probing foot, and Haru kneads Makoto's balls, runs his toes along Makoto's shaft. 

Moaning continuously around Haru's cock now, Makoto deep throats him convulsively, insistently; he's begging for it without words, with each convulsion, each pleasurable spasm: begging for Haru's orgasm, for Haru's come. The rushing swell inside Haru crests, and as the crest breaks, the part of him that can still think thinks that when Makoto is asking so nicely, Haru shouldn't give so violently—but Haru's orgasm isn't thinking, it isn't considerate or considering; Haru's orgasm is spilling out in violent splashes and spurts. 

Makoto takes it. He swallows the orgasm down like he doesn't need air to breathe, no, he just needs Haru's come. He takes it and wants it and more than wants it: "I want it the way you want the ocean," Makoto told him once. He'd blushed furiously and turned away but he hadn't taken it back, he hadn't told Haru to forget he'd said it, so even though Haru isn't sure if it can possibly be true, he's never forgotten. And because Makoto gives so much to him all the time, always, Haru gives Makoto this whenever he can.

When Haru is spent, Makoto leans back, arching and bracing himself on the floor behind him, legs spreading wider, head falling back openmouthed, his moans of supplication still inarticulate, louder now without Haru's cock down his throat. A strand of come and saliva connects Haru's cock to Makoto's mouth, snaps and falls, clings to Makoto's face. 

Haru puts his foot flat on the floor, sinks down himself, kneeling between Makoto's legs. One hand coils around Makoto's cock, the other reaches for the cord of come. He tries to wipe it from Makoto's face but it smears, so he massages his come into Makoto's skin with one hand as the other begins to stroke Makoto's cock. 

Tremors ripple through Makoto and he is not quite incoherent; just coherent enough to beg to be fucked, "now, _please_." Haru wants to ask if Makoto can hold on for him but he knows, he feels in the pulsations of the cock in his hand, that Makoto is too desperately close, that Makoto can barely wait fifteen seconds never mind fifteen minutes. Haru doesn't know where the desperation comes from but he wants to give Makoto what he needs, to ease the desperation as much as to give pleasure, to make him feel like he's floating not drowning. 

One arm around Makoto, palm and fingers flush against the curve of his back, Haru brings him out of his arch. He slips one hand under Makoto's shirt, pressed to his heated skin, and keeps him upright as he starts undoing the buttons with his other hand. Makoto leans forward, helpfully holding himself up so Haru can use both hands to work through the buttons. He slides his arms out of the sleeves one by one, and then his hands come together overhead as Haru tosses his shirt aside. Hands overlapped in the stretch, his head goes back with his arch, almost as if he's diving. His hips thrust forward, no demand, just supplication. He's splayed out as far as he can, to the limit that the jeans around his knees will allow, twisting in the confines, his twisting too fluid to be twisted; spiraling out, splaying out in spirals. 

Haru looks at Makoto splayed out, his beautiful needful display, and Haru wants to spiral out with him, wants to spiral inside him. He reaches for himself but he already knows; he reaches for himself even though he knows it's too soon for him, he needs more time—time Makoto can't wait for this time—and Makoto knows too. Makoto touches Haru's hand, the one Haru is touching himself with. "Please," Makoto breathes, looking at Haru from under his lashes, eyes unfocused with need. "It doesn't have to be your cock, just, please, I need you inside me, Haru, _please_ ~" 

So Haru eases Makoto down onto his back, unfolds his legs, strips the twisted jeans the rest of the way off, and pulls Makoto into his lap so Makoto's hips rest there as the rest of him stretches out on the floor. Haru gathers the traces of come from his own cockhead and reaches across Makoto's body to feed them to Makoto, lets Makoto coat his fingers thoroughly. His fingers slide slickly into Makoto, in and out of Makoto. Makoto is pliant and writhing in Haru's lap, contracting around the fingers Haru slides in and out of him, his body sucking them in deeper. Haru pulls him up a little more, lifts his hips to hook one of Makoto's legs over his own shoulder so he can deep stroke inside Makoto; his fingers wrap around Makoto's cock, stroking slick and smooth.

Makoto's so close, more than close—too close to close, his breath ragged, body vibrating so hard his pleasure is fracturing; and Haru stops. He unhooks Makoto's leg and withdraws his fingers. Makoto swallows his moan of protest with a sigh as he's pulled up against Haru, his arms going around Haru as Haru reaches behind to slip his fingers inside again, reaches between them and curls his other hand around Makoto's cock, stroking him inside and out; only a few strokes and Makoto is coming, overflowing and crying out.

Haru drinks in his soft cries. He knows Makoto is too far gone to kiss back so he's content to put his mouth over Makoto's, inhaling his sounds, swallowing his orgasm, savoring the salt-air traces in Makoto's breath.

Makoto's tongue licks at Haru's before he turns his head and gasps for breath. Haru's fingers slip out of Makoto; his palm rests in the small of Makoto's back, holding Makoto in his lap as Makoto's body remembers how to breathe something other than Haru.

Haru's hand slows and stills on Makoto's cock. Their hands are filled with Makoto's come since the thick, sleek drops that slid through Haru's fingers were caught by Makoto's. Switching hands, Makoto brings Haru's to his mouth, attentively licking Haru's fingers clean. He smiles, his tongue flicking out to swipe the remnants from his own lips. 

They haven't kissed yet, not really, not the way Makoto wanted to in the elevator. And, because Haru wants Makoto to have everything he wants, everything Haru can give him, he leans forward now and touches his mouth to Makoto's, goes into him when Makoto opens, takes Makoto inside himself, sharing breath and breathing smiles no one else can see.


End file.
